


When you make a kid the Dragonborn (and then cut that kids arm off)

by Masmkasm



Category: Elder Scrolls, Oblivion - Fandom, Skyrim
Genre: Dovahkiin is a kid, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Other, Prologue, Prologue set in Oblivion, just for context
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5838232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masmkasm/pseuds/Masmkasm





	1. Prolouge

Nat stared at the lifeless bodies pilled around the room, the smell of blood thick in the air, she buried her nose in the crook of her elbow but still the smell persisted. She had done it silently, a quick knife in a dark corner for each one, she made it quick, painless. At least for them.

She still remembered getting the order, weeks ago. She’d put it off, done other things, she’d prayed for hours to the night mother to guide her but was never answered. So when she couldn’t put it off any more, when she had to kill them all, she planned to do it right. She’d snuck in, using the back entrance, and killing them all almost instantly. But then she counted the bodies. One missing.

She heard the shuffle downstairs and her entire body jolted. Her sire, the man who had made her who she was, gave her purpose and a new life.

She couldn’t. 

Her grip slipped and with a clatter, her weapon fell to the cobbled ground. Her breathing quickly turned erratic as the realization swept over her, what she’d done, what she had yet to do. Never had killing taken such a toll on her, it had always been something she’d enjoyed, sending souls to the Dread Father, but this? This was mindless. A slaughter. 

“My child?” his voice came like an axe, cutting through her swirling madness. She glazed over the bodies and locked on his face. Solemn, calm, as though he was unaware of their dead friends scattered throughout the sanctuary. But he could smell them, better than her he knew their presence. She slid down onto her knees, eyes pleading with him, hiccupping short gasps of breath with thick tears falling down her cheeks. 

“What have you done.” It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t have the answer. He knelt down to her, hands shaking as he brushed her whiskers flat, still fresh blood coating his palm. Part of her thought to grab the knife, dig it into his heart and finish the job. But the rest of her just wanted to lay into his grasp, cry into his chest and scream out her terrors. 

His hands pulled her close, and she gripped his shoulders, begging him to forgive her as he stroked her hair, trying to shush her and calm her. But all he could see was the pooling blood in the middle of the room, draining from the Argonian that only days ago she’d confessed to him in confidence that she loved, and he wondered what in oblivion had driven her to kill them all.

He ran a soothing hand through her hair and over her flattened and twitching ears, caressing them each individually. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed into him, her entire body limp in his grasp.

“I have to- to get you out of here,” She cried, rubbing her nose into his tunic. “They-they wont let me keep you alive, I have to- to get you out of Cyrodil.” 

He pushed her shoulders back to look in her eyes, a deep shade of red, her face fallen with age. She’d not drank any of the blood from their fallen friends. 

“Nataliana, what are you talking about, this… did you do this?” He looked up again, biting back the hunger that chewed away at his throat. The scent of blood was filling both of their lungs, if they didn’t leave soon they may enter a frenzy. 

Nat made a whimpering sound, her head falling forward. “A cleanse, he-he called it a cleanse.” She sniffed back another tear, trying to calm herself, get the smell of blood out of her head. Getting him out of the country was the only possible way to hide that she hadn’t killed him. She’d find some vampire dust, make a pile of it so when they came to check if she’d done her job they wouldn’t question her. 

“Someone is killing members of the Dark Brotherhood,” She ran her sleeve over her nose, sniffling again. “But it couldn’t be you, it would never be you.”  
He sighed, getting to his feet and extending a hand to her. She took it greedily, too weak to stand, he hand to pull her up on his own. They were right to have chosen her to do the cleanse, being the newest member, whoever was killing people off couldn’t have been her. He’d heard whispers of it at the last of their gatherings, and that was well before she’d appeared before him. Weak and tired and scared of everything that moved. She’d been to Oblivion and back, and he was the first person she’d ever allowed herself to trust. Thank the gods they’d picked her.

“Skyrim,” She whispered, hand still grasping his. He was supporting most of her weight, but wouldn’t complain, she was far too light. “We can sneak into Skyrim with ease, nothing ever happens up there.” 

“No my child, you must stay, they will hunt you to the corners of Tamriel they find you and I both gone.” He was guiding her to the exit now, out of the hall and into the old abandoned house which the sanctuary was hidden under. 

She began to protest but was swiftly cut off, “Find the traitor, if it was not one of our brothers or sisters then you alone can stop them. Your destiny is greater than saving one old Vampire.” He palmed her cheek, the air outside of the stone walled room, while still musty, was far less coated in blood. 

The both breathed easier as they stepped out into the chilled night, grateful for the quiet of the town and the seemingly heavy weight that lifted from both their shoulders as they worked out their plan. 

“I shall go to Skyrim, I’ll find a quiet town and hide there until you can make your way to me.” He sighed, leaning against the door of the old house. “ I shall not change my name, even my clothes if it makes it easier to find me. But do not come quickly, take your time, let years pass, let them forget.” 

“They’ll not forget my betrayal.” she said with a shiver. The thought of her knife back downstairs held heavy in her mind. She would have to go back down still, clear out the sanctuary… feed. 

He chuckled, bringing a hand up to run over his cheeks, his mind also on blood, if he were to even think of making it to Skyrim he would need to appear more like his human self, something he’d not done in years. “They will never forget your victory at finding the true betrayer, focus not on your fear of being caught, but at what joy you will have when finding the real fiend.”

“Vincent,” She breathed, staring out into the empty sky, her hand tightening in his. “You are my only true friend, do not die before I can find you.”

He returned the squeeze to her hand, head tilting back to look at stars along with her. “You forget my friend, I am a stubborn old man. I doubt all of Skyrim’s armies could take me down.” And with that they were both laughing, holding hands in front of a run down shack, blood that was neither hers nor his dripping from her clothes, unknown to the fact that they would not see each other for over two hundred long years.


	2. Skyrim

Exhale, inhale, focusing on each breath like it could be his last. It probably would be his last, from the way the men around him were talking. “Sovengard awaits,” one said it so softly, with eyes of sorrow, like he’s supposed to know what that means.

It was so cold, every flake of snow on his exposed arms like fire, stinging and leaving a mark. So small and shivering as the cart moved on, angrily thumping down the small rock path. No one would tell them where they were going, no one would tell him where he was, he’d never felt so lost or scared. 

He ran his fingers together, they’d not bound his hands as tight as they had the others, pitying him perhaps. If he could just get the palm of his hand to face him he could cast a fire spell and escape, run off into the woods, back to the border where all this nonsense had started. 

His hands were like ice, he knew his teeth were chattering and shoulders shaking as the man driving the cart yelled at the others to be quiet. 

The town, a village he assumed, appeared over a small hill, walls and towers and men on horses glared down at them as the caravan of prisoners was driven inside. He recognizes the emblems on the elves chests right away; Imperial. He’d grown up with that symbol around him, on every door and wall and banner… he’d know it anywhere. 

People were watching, and damn that man was still talking, something about a man who made beer in this town- Helgen he called it. He could smell it, before anyone else, the death in the air. The lingering stench of decay, he struggled to contain his urge to gag or cover his nose. As they turned another corner he saw it, a man with an axe, standing over a small log that was riddled with flies and blood.

Their cart was the first to unload, just off to the side of the gate. People were yelling ‘Traitor’ and ‘Death to the Stormcloaks’, and the men around him cringed and sighed with each insult. They got off the cart, one by one, until he was the lat one on the cart, shivering and scared at the end of the benches.

No one seemed to notice him, cowering there, trying desperately to pretend he was somewhere else. Maybe if he wished hard enough he would be saved, someone would come for him surely, they couldn’t execute him, he was just a boy. But then someone shouted out at him. 

“Elf! Get off the cart!” a harsh female voice bellowed and he nearly yelped. He stood up quickly, the fear that she’d kill him in his seat rather than waiting for him driving him forward. He waddled out of the wagon bed, bouncing out to the ground, his head bent in fear.

“You,” A softer, kinder voice said. There were men standing all around him, one had even tried to run but been shot down. The man from Rorikstead. So he didn’t react when the soldier spoke, he could be talking to anyone. “You’re not on my list elf.” 

He looked up slowly, the man was indeed a soldier, standing much taller than the boy, with the imperial emblem across his armored chest. His eyes were kind, and tired. 

“Who… are you?” He asked, tucking his list under his arm. They boy thought about that for a moment. He could easily lie, though he doubted it would matter. The others had all shuffled off towards the chopping block, and he was probably headed there too, so what was the point? Telling a man who he was before he was to die? 

So he choked out his name, his lips dry and tongue heavily. “N-Nororn. Nororn Nightshade.” he used his mothers second name, knowing his father would prefer his bastard elf son not use his high born Imperial title. 

The man in front of him raised an eyebrow and wrote something down- probably his name- and then turned to the scary woman next to him. 

“What should we do with him?” He asked under his breath, eyes still on Nororn. 

“To the block!” The woman shouted, jolting both of them. She glared down at the boy, hands on her hips, looking like she was the empress and this was her kingdom. With a smirk and slanted eyes she said, “All traitors must be taught a lesson.” 

Both men exchanged a look before the soldier spoke again, turning away from Nororn to speak semi-privately. “He’s just a child.” he whispered harshly. She shrugged, refusing to turn towards him, instead she stepped forward and gripped the child by his shoulder, her dagger like armor gloves digging into his skin. He let out a yelp as she pushed him towards the rest of the crowd.

She let go, pushing him towards the block. He stumbled forward, his cold bare feet struggling to keep him up. She walked until she stood next to the executioner. Nororn sniffed back his tears, trying to regain his balance. They were going to kill him, they were going to kill him for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been at the border to escape the daily life of a servant, looking for rocks or flowers to put in his window. 

He’d worked at his fathers estate since he could hold a spoon. His mother, a young and beautiful Bosmer woman had been impregnated by his father, the lord of the estate, when she was only fifteen. She didn’t survive the birth. So he was left alone with only a father who couldn’t acknowledge him, and a gaggle of maids who barely cared if he lived or died.

He wondered if his father would mourn his death. 

Probably not.

A man was at the axe now, demanding it be over, thanking his ancestors, all that good Nord crap. And then they cut his head off and he was gone, his body falling limp. There were more shouts for justice, but Nororn wasn’t listening. All he could focus on was the blip of black in the distance that seemed to be growing closer.

“Next! The elf brat!” The scornful woman from before yelled and Nororn took a step forward. The man he’d rode in the carriage with offered him some kind words, “It’ll be over fast, don’t run,” and then he was walking alone towards a man with an axe.

The entire courtyard was silent, even the executioner shot nervous glances towards the woman who was in charge, but she stared on, facing the crowd. As Nororn went down on his knees there were gasps from the townsfolk who watched on, then, without warning, a loud screech ripped through the courtyard. The executioner fumbled backwards, dropping his axe. 

Nororn reacted quickly, as fire began to rain from the sky, and a black demon of a beast landed on the tower about, he slipped to the mans axe, rubbing his wrist ties over it until it snapped. The dragon swooped down over him, grabbing a man in his mouth and flying up, then letting the man fall to the ground. Nororn bounced up, running through the fire, the screams of the townspeople filled his ears but he ignored them. He dove into a tower where a group of people were huddled over.

The prisoner from before, the one who was kind to him, was there, talking to another man about the dragon. Nororn ignored them all, slamming his body against the door and breathing as much as his lungs would let him. His feet were no longer cold, and the stench of decay had been replaced with embers of fire and brimstone. He slid down until his knees were against his chest. 

The men were arguing now, “We can’t fight a beast like that!” one shouted just as the tower shook under the weight of what they assumed was the dragon, and more screams came from the upper level, rocks tumbling down towards them. 

Nororn pushed himself up slowly, his knees shaking. He swallowed his fear and ran up the stairs, the men yelling at him to come back. 

There was a gaping hole in the stairs, open towards the outside, he could do it, jump over the wall and run away, he just needed a running start- but there was a tight grip on his left arm before he could move. 

He turned back to see her, the woman who so dearly wanted him to die. She pulled out her dagger and pressed it against the soft skin of his arm. “You’re not getting away prisoner!” She screamed, and Nororn cried out as the dagger dug into him. 

“I’m just a boy!” He yelled back, trying desperately to pull his arm out from her iron grip. She raised her hand up, ignoring him, and when it came back down it sliced deep through his arm, the bone snapping under her strength. He screamed again, tears plummeting from his eyes, the pain too intense to try and push through, he was going to pass out if he didn’t do something. 

He pulled his right hand towards her whispering one of the only two spells he knew and his hand went ablaze, right before meeting her face in a punch. Her knife dug through the last of his tendons, cutting his arm entirely off, the blood soaking his already tattered shirt, her knife and the floor beneath them. She fell backwards, his severed arm still in her hand. 

With his right hand still blazing with fire he ran towards her then spun around, running, faster, faster until he was leaping, then falling out into the forest surrounding the town. He landed with a ‘fwump’ in the fresh snow, the cold immediately replacing the blaze of fire on his skin, though quickly melting when met by the actual fire in his hand.

He sat up, snow slipping from his skin. His new stub of an arm was gushing blood, dying the snow a crimson red. If he didn’t close the wound he would die from blood loss, but he needed to move and fast. The woman in the tower was still there, staring down at him, she knew she could make that jump but was still trying to process that she’d cut the boys arm off.

Nororn looked from his hand, still on fire, to the stub that was draining his body of blood. He closed his eyes, then slammed his hand against the wound, his skin sizzling and boiling under his touch. He screamed out in pain, kicking his feet and biting his lip to try and distract his body from the agony of fire against him, but nothing could drain out that feeling. It seemed like years, sitting there in the snow while he boiled his own skin, draining all of his magic until he couldn’t breath it hurt so bad. 

But then the flames faded, and his screams were drowned out by the screech of the dragon, and he was rising to his feet. Running again, his head hanging, his hand gripping his shoulder, crying and wishing, not for the first time, that his mother was alive. 

 

 

The Tavern was bustling with the news, “A dragon in Helgen!” not days ago a man had been yelling it at people, driven half mad by the time he got to his uncle at the forge. So someone had been sent to warn the Yarl, a local man who knew the road. With luck there would be more guards in Riverwood within the week.

Everyone was so busy preparing for new mouths to feed, they didn’t notice the Khajit sneak into town. They probably didn’t even notice she was a Khajit, covered from head to toe in robes and cloaks, even her hands were gloved. She sat at a table in the corner of the tavern, ears tucked flat against her head, but still she listened to every conversation, every whisper and quiet glance she noticed, listening and watching for what she’d came for. 

But the entire town seemed fixated on the topic of the dragons, she doubted anyone even had the information that she needed. 

She tightened her grip on the mug in front of her. Her face covered by a mask, she couldn’t exactly drink the swill the bartender had put in front of her. She breathed out slowly, she hated Skyrim, so loud with their opinions, rough, and rude. She missed the politics of the Emperors company, though she hadn’t been back there in years. 

The door creaked open and she shifted her head, just enough to see a young… person, slip into the room. She couldn’t tell their gender, or even their age for that matter, they could be just very short. The new person wore a makeshift robe, pulled tight over their head and reaching just below their knees. The one thing she could tell was that it was an elf, simply from the dents in the hood, only elf ears sat that low and pointed that high.

She scanned them, but as far as she could tell they were unarmed. So she quickly lost interest in the child, instead turning back to listen in on the conversation of the two men next to her. The men talked for a while about the dragon, how scared their wives had been when they’d heard. 

By the time their conversation stated to dull, She realized the kid had crossed the room and was talking quietly to the bartender. She tipped her head towards them, her ears twitching to be released so she could hear better, but the tight wrappings on her head kept them pinned.

“… A room,” was all she caught the child saying. Even with their voice she couldn’t pick up on a gender, she hated children that way, all kids sounded like girls and boys alike. The bartender seemed to laugh, his shoulders shaking as he leaned down to get closer to the kids face.

“A room costs money kid, and more than that,” He reached forward and knocked the kids hood off. Long dark hair, but not quite black, with two large ears poking out of his head. “We don’t serve your kind here.” 

She cringed at that, the kid had been right to hide their race, Skyrim wasn’t known for being accepting of other races. They were very Nord proud people. She started tapping her finger on the table, their conversation didn’t seem anything special, just normal Nord racism. But she couldn’t stop listening. The kid… reminded her of herself, lost and scared in a world that didn’t accept them. 

“Please,” The kid said, “If not a room then just some food, I… I haven’t eaten since… in days.” That was enough to get her to stand up and start crossing the room. Too many pauses in their story, this kid had seen something, something that could lead her towards what she needed. But as she grew closer to the kid she smelled it, the scent of fresh blood, and burnt flesh. 

“Get out of here kid, go cry on the street like any other beggar,” the man shouted, pushing on the kids chest, sending them tumbling back into her. She put a hand on either of their shoulders to steady them. 

“Careful there,” She said through her mask, she turned the kid and brushed some dust from their shoulders, then patted their head.

“Oh- I’m sorry,” the kid; a boy she now saw from his jaw line and eyes, tried to step back from her, embarrassed not only for bumping her but for the terrible conversation he’d just had. But she knelt down, reaching into her pack and pulling out a chunk of bread and offering it to him. He only stared at it with wide eyes.

“Here,” she said, pushing the bread towards him. He held out his hand, only one, she noticed, and took it carefully, like it might shatter in his hold. “Come on,” she chuckled, guiding him to an empty table across the room. 

She watched silently as the boy choked down the loaf, she thought to tell him to slow down, but decided he probably would just ignore her. She waited patiently, leaning on the table to rest her chin in the palm of her hand. Once he’d stuffed the bread down his throat and licking the crumbs off his hands, he finally looked up to her. He was smiling but not as much as she was under her mask. She hadn’t spent time with children in years, she forgot how small and sweet they were. 

“Thank you,” he said simply, “but I don’t have anything to give you,” He scooted back in his chair, blinking long and then yawning. She nodded, leaning back in her own chair.

“All I need from you is information.” She spoke soft and slow, knowing how tired he must be. “But I understand if you’re tired. I’ve got a room here, if you need to you can sleep.” but he wasn’t listening, already slumping over and passing out in the chair. 

She tried to stifle a laugh, standing and pulling him up into her arms. He was too light, skinny and frail in her grip as she carried him to the room. No one even seemed to notice them, the bartender too busy talking to the maid. She kicked the door closed behind her and made her way over to the other side of the room, taking care to avoid bumping his head on anything.

She laid him out on the bed, carefully pulling off his cloak and folding it on the table next to the bed. She saw his arm, she smelled the still healing flesh… she reached out and slowly peeled off the blood soaked bandages. The skin had been severed brutally, and sealed even more so, a bit of bone still exposes and flecks of flesh still hanging from him. It had yet to be touched by real healing magic. 

She slipped back across the room and made sure the door was locked, then began taking off her outer most layers. Her gloves and mask, her hood and cloak, revealing her ears and braids, her claws and whiskers, and her bright red eyes. She sucked in a breath, the smell of him tempting her vampire blood, but she ignored it. She hadn’t lived this long without learning how to control herself. 

She moved back towards the sleeping boy, so deep in a sleep… he likely hadn’t slept in days. Still. She brushed a hand over his forehead and whispered a sleep spell, too keep him unconscious while she healed him.

She lifted his arm, it was severed just below the elbow, but if it was ever going to heal properly then the remainder of the forearm bone needed to come off. Which meant she had to cut it open again. She ran two fingers down his arm, paralyzing it. He wouldn’t feel a thing. 

She then went to work fixing his arm to the best of her abilities.

 

Nororn dreamt of his mother, soft hands touching his cheek, brushing back his hair and whispering sweet words to him. He dreamt that she fixed everything that had ever been wrong, healed him and cured him. But he could never see her face, or hear her voice. 

He woke slowly, not wanting to leave his dream, but something was pulling him out. So his eyes slid open, and he saw above him a hand, gloved and barely touching his forehead. “Good you’re coming to,” A voice said softly, her voice, that woman that had fed him.

“I didn’t think you’d sleep so long.” She moved her hand away from him, shuffling out of his line of sight. He stretched out, the bed bigger than anything he’d ever slept in. He noticed right away the ache was gone from his arm, there was no pain, but instead a soft sort of tingling. He shot up and pulled the stub close to his face. 

It wasn’t bandaged, exposed and healed more solidly, even the cut seemed smoother. 

“The pain will come back, but I can help with that.” She was on a stool across from him at a table, a few potion bottles arranged neatly on the table. “Take one of these twice a day and eventually the pain will be gone entirely.” She picked up a small pink vial, wiggling it in the air and then putting it back down. She then turned more towards him and nodded towards his arm.

“I had to cut off the remainder of the forearm bone and reseal it. I assume you cauterized it with a fire spell, a low level one judging by the damage it left. You’ve been out for two days.” She tossed him a chunk of bread and he reached up to catch it but missed. “Looks like you were left handed, not good. You’re going to have to get used to using your right hand for things.”

He picked the bread up and started to gobble it down, his stomach growling in excitement. “Don’t eat that too fast, your stomach wont like it. We’ll get some soup in you later, but right now we have business.” she stood up and walked over, sitting on the bed. He slowed his frenzy of eating down to a slow munch, chewing carefully.

“I already told you, I don’t have any money.” He said in between bites.

“I don’t care about money kid, I’ve got enough.” He couldn’t see her face, all wrapped up in a mask, but he thought she might be smiling. “I want to know about the dragon.”

“The…” he gulped and put the bread on his lap. “How did you know I was there?”

“Your clothes mostly, also you hadn’t eaten in days, lost your arm, and were sporting a lovely new scar across your lips. I healed that up though, you’re welcome.” She was definitely smiling. 

He took another bite. “What do you want to know?”

She moved back on the bed, her back resting against the wall. “How big?”

“As big as a house.”

“Color?”

“Black,”

“Mmm… not who I thought then…’

He paused at that, starring up at her. “You thought you knew the dragon?”

She chuckled, running a gloved hand over her masked face. “What did the dragon do, other than attack. Did it say anything or do anything out of the ordinary?”

He glared up at her in confusion, “What?” He went to move closer to her, but his body protested. “What does a dragon normally do? When have they ever talked? He came in and killed everyone, I don’t know. I wasn’t even there through the whole thing. I got out and ran… I hid in a cave for three days before coming here.” 

She sat silently, listening and thinking. Once he stopped talking he took another bite, staring at her. She was scary all on her own. Her head was wrapped in bandages with a black mask covering her face, the bandages reached down to her neck, where a tight black jacket took its place. He didn’t know if she could even see properly out of that mask, the way she just sat there and stared at the wall across from them. 

He finished the bread and looked down at himself. He wasn’t in the same thing he’d been wearing, instead it was a baggy tan tunic, the top half hanging below his armpits to leave his arms exposed, tied in the middle with a thin brown belt. He was wearing pants too, he could feel them under the thick animal skin blankets. 

“I’m going on a sort of… expedition. The shop here had something valuable stolen from them and I’ve agreed to go retrieve it. I could use your help.” She said, standing and walking over to the table. She picked up a small pack and tossed it over to him, this time he caught it.

“You need my help?” He asked, examining the bag. It was filled with clothes, ones that looked like they might actually fit him. 

“I lost my last companion a while back. I need a new one.” She pulled on her cloak, turning towards the door. “If you’d like I can train you. If you do well on this mission of course.”

“So it’s like a test?” 

“Something like that. Get dressed, meet me outside. Don’t talk to anyone and make sure to cover those ears.” And then she was gone, and with the door locked behind her, he got dressed.


End file.
